This little home
by VervainAndRoses
Summary: Mary is pregnant and on bed rest, and Francis and the troop come to visit her. (Because in a perfect world Francis lives and they are parents to a football team.)


I spy them in the doorway, two small dark haired children sneaking their heads inside the room, before my husband pushes the heavy door fully open for them, himself holding in his arm a tiny blond boy. My children come tumbling in.

"Be quiet, all right? Mama is supposed to be on bed rest, and we're not supposed be here." Francis tells them. Anne nearly falls over her nightgown running to my bed, and Francis manages the toddler twisting in his arms, that extends his arms to me, crying out "Mama!" with delight.

"I'm glad that didn't stop you." I say, I've missed my children, my babies.

"They were dying to see you." Francis tells me, almost as an excuse, but he knows how awful the time since my lying in started has been. Especially with the midwives not letting my children visit, arguing that they bring the dirt and bad air from outside in, not to mention that they'd break the peace and quiet I need, but I love it when they are so full of energy, even a little hectic.

"And I've longed to see you." I tell them, helping my little girl onto the bed as best as I can, and then meet the disapproving look of Francis. He doesn't want me doing any effort at all, even thought I lie on this bed all day and barely move, dying of boredom. I'm sure if he could breathe for me, he would.

"I'm pregnant, not sick." I remind him.

"Right, right…" He smiles sheepishly, letting our youngest son, who bears his name, down on the bed as he becomes unmanageable.

"Mama! Mama!" The little boy crawls toward me excitedly, almost bouncing on the bed, and in his eagerness jumps on me before his father can stop him, his little hands pushing against my stomach, making a gasp escape my lips.

Francis exclaims his name in a way he never speaks to our children, and tears spring to the boy's eyes as soon as he realizes his mistake. The little sting from the push is gone as soon as it came though, and I reach for my boy comfortingly.

"Francis…" I call out softly, reminding him that our son is all but 3 years old. His eyes soften immediately.

"Francis, you have to be more careful with your mother, all right? You're going to be a big brother now, remember?"

My boy nods, his little pout trembling.

"I'm sorry." He says to us, and then presses a tentative kiss on my protruding belly, whispering "I'm sorry" again against it.

"Oh, my sweet boy." I say, as I cradle him to me, letting him hide his head on the crook of my neck. I exchange a smile with Francis, relishing in the beautiful children we've been gifted with.

I feel like the most blessed woman on earth, with all of my family surrounding me like this. My youngest rests against my side, his downy blond curls tickling my neck. Anne sits on my other side, her hands roaming my stomach with a carefulness that is endearing. Francis sits at the end of the bed, rubbing my foot and ankle above the sheets. And James stands behind his father…but his blue eyes seem troubled, there's a little frown on his face.

"James, why are you so far away?" I ask him, and he dutifully walks to me, grabbing my extended hand, and I can sense something is bothering my oldest son. I decide I will deal with it after the littlest ones go to sleep.

"How did the babies get in there?" Anne asks out of nowhere, her voice full of wonder and curiosity. Francis and I immediately look at each other, my eyes wide and a laugh almost bubbling out of my chest. Such questions at only 5 years of age.

"Well, my darling, I believe that's a question your father will answer later." I say, and Francis raises his eyebrow at me.

"You will?" Anne asks him excitedly, crawling on his lap.

"Yes, of course." He answers her, sweetly, but looking at me. "Aparently…"

_I love you_ I mouth to him, far too amused at his expression at being left to deal with diverting that particular conversation on his own. He smiles, in that way he does only for me, the smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and tells me how much he loves me back. His gaze then drifts from me to our son, nestled on my side.

"I think someone's asleep." He tells me softly, nodding to Francis. And rightly so, my boy has my nightgown grasped tightly in his little fist, but his breathing is calm and even, that of sleep.

Francis puts our daughter down on the floor, and comes to my side to pick up our son, who immediately awakens, and even groggy with sleep clutches my shift tighter, shaking his head. He's missed me almost as badly as I have, I bet, as we never used a wet nurse with any of our children, and they're so much more attached to us as a result. I don't have it in me to pry his hand off though, and it would break my heart if he started to cry. I might even let all of them sleep in here if I thought I could get away with it.

"We have to say goodnight now, all right?" Francis tells him, easing him away from me. He takes the boy in his arms, as he starts to sniff. "Hey, the next time you see your mother you'll probably already have new brothers or sisters to play with." Francis tells the children, especially our youngest, and this seems to brighten his mood a little, even when he hides against his father's neck.

"I won't." James says firmly, and I can see now his worries go far beyond sibling jealousy or rivalry. "Not if they hurt you. Then I'll hate them!" His words shock me. He isn't like this at all.

"Why would the babies hurt mother?" Anne asks his older brother, alarmed, looking up at him like she always does, like he holds every answer. I'm glad my children love each other so dearly, but I can't allow her to be bothered by whatever is making James so hurtful tonight.

"Your brothers would never hurt me." I tell her, grabbing her chin and smiling at her, reassuringly. She nods, and then a frown takes hold of her face.

"_Brothers_?" She whines. I have to smile at her crestfallen expression. She's the only girl, and now Francis, at 3 years old, is the only one who agrees to play dollies or tea parties with her, James being far too old to play such games. He'd much rather play swords with Kenna and Bash's son, although I've seen him give into the whims of his baby sister many times, when me and Francis are too busy.

"Is that right, Mary? Brothers?" Now Francis is the one to ask, and I have to smile coyly. There is no way to know, of course. But like with my other pregnancies, I just have this feeling.

"Want to bet?" I ask him, teasingly. I know he secretly wants another princess to dote on like he does with Anne.

"I know better than to bet against you." He tells me, a warm smile on his face. Ten years of marriage have only made our bond stronger and our love deeper, proof of it the little ones we find ourselves trying to send to bed. I look at James, and then back at him, knowing that while we have diverted the conversation to spare our daughter any worries there is still a conversation to be had with our son, and he understands me without words leaving my lips.

"Time for sleep now, I haven't forgotten." He tells Anne, his hand on her shoulder. She smiles like someone who got caught, and then comes to me.

"Goodnight mother." She tells me, raising herself on the tips of her toes to hug me, and I drop a kiss on her dark curls, telling her I love her. Francis is right behind her, holding our little boy who is now calm, and he lowers him to me enough for my boy to press a messy kiss to my cheek.

"Why, thank you." I tell him, as Francis gathers him against his chest again, and I smooth down his messy hair. It eases him right back to half-sleeping on his father's shoulder. Francis takes Anne's hand, and gives me a nod towards James and a half smile before walking to the door. Before James can tell me goodnight and follow, I stop him.

"_You're_ staying a little longer." I tell my eldest son, a little stern but with a smile, and he looks down, ashamed.

"What brought that about?" I ask him, after his father and siblings have left us alone. He looks away from me, and I scoot over as best as I can manage to make enough room for him to sit by my side. I hold his hand in mine. "Talk to me."

"I…I just…" He takes a breath. "I heard grandmother say her last pregnancy was of twins, but we've never met aunts or uncles that look the same. So they died, didn't they?" He rushes out, almost as if he didn't want to say anything, but I know he trusts me enough. "And I asked my governess why you had to stay inside until the baby was born and she said that bringing a baby into the world is dangerous. And she doesn't know there are two of them. So it's even more dangerous, isn't it? And I know the duchess' baby hurt her. She went away from court to have her baby and she never came back. So you could die."

I can see what has been plaguing him now. He has clearly inherited his father's sense of deduction, and he's not wrong that this pregnancy is dangerous, even more so than usual. But the lengths of his worry astound me.

"I don't want them to hurt you. I don't want anything to happen to you." He finishes, and hastily wipes his eyes as if he can't bear to be seen crying.

"Oh, James." I take his hand, pressing a kiss to it, my heart aches for him and the way he worries for me. I think of the best way to assuage his worries, but to not lie to him either. "First of all, the duchess' baby didn't hurt her." I tell him, of the woman who lived at court with us for a while and then unfortunately died in childbirth. "Sometimes those things happen, it's not the baby's fault.

"And now…I can't assure you that nothing bad will happen to me, that is for God to decide, not me. But I can tell you I'll do everything in my hands to stay safe. Even listen to those pesky midwifes." I tell him jokingly, nudging his cheek, and he gives me a faint smile. And now, knowing that he's very mature for his young age, I continue.

"But if something did happen to me-"

"Mother." He interrupts me, almost admonishing.

"_If_ anything does. Don't you think they'd need you? For you to be their big brother?" I ask him, hating this conversation but knowing it's one we need to have. He begrudgingly nods. "Then I can't bear for you to say that you'd hate them, your own baby brothers."

"I'm sorry." He tells me, honestly. "I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't. And I know I can't tell you not to worry, you're much like your father in that aspect, but I am going to tell you not to let worry plague you, or keep you from playing and having fun. Can you do that for me? Can you promise me you'll be all right while I'm here?"

He nods again, and I bring him closer to kiss his forehead.

"I love you." I tell him, and he throws his arms around me and hugs me close. "Just have faith everything will be all right." We pull away after a moment, and he points to my cheeks.

"You're crying." He tells me, like an accusation.

"No, I am not." I tell him sternly, wiping my admittedly moist cheeks, and we laugh together. I feel everything is as it should be. It's in this moment when my beloved husband walks through the door.

"That sounds like music to my ears." He tells us, coming closer. James stands up and walks to his father, who promptly questions him.

"Have you spoken to your mother?" Francis asks him, and he nods right away.

"Good boy." He tells him, hugging him and ruffling his hair. Unlike his father he makes it appoint to show his children how much he loves them every day and it makes my heart sing with happiness.

"Time to go to bed then?" He asks, nodding to the door, but James shakes his head.

"I'm nearly ten years old father, I can go alone." He says "And I'll read Anne and Francis their story so you can stay with mother longer." He volunteers. Francis takes a beat to answer, almost as surprised as I am.

"Very well then." He answers, and James nods and runs to the door, saying "Goodnight" before he closes the door after himself.

"He is such a good boy." I tell Francis, extending my arms to him.

"Yes, he takes after his mother." He answers me, taking my hands in his.

"Don't give me all the credit. He has more of you than just your eyes. I think he might worry about me even more than you do." I tease him.

"Impossible." He tells me, kissing my forehead, before getting into bed with me. He takes the pillows behind me away and replaces them with himself. I lean back into his chest, content.

"He was worried about the birth going wrong, could you believe it? About me dying." I inform him, and feel him shudder behind me with the mention of death. I know that worry also hangs over him, but he won't share his burden with me. "He's too young to have such dark matters in his head…"

"I noticed he's been quiet, but he wouldn't tell me anything." He concedes. "I'll speak with him tomorrow as well, is that all right?" I nod as his hands massage my shoulders. "How _are_ you feeling?"

"I… would really like to be done with this pregnancy now." I tell him, I feel heavier and heavier with each passing day. I can no longer even sleep on my back. Francis runs his fingers up and down my swollen belly.

"Well you _are _huge…" He says offhandedly, and then stumbles over his words. "I mean...you're…" I just cover his hands with mine over my stomach, chuckling. He's not wrong.

"I _am_ huge." I accept. Any insecurity we've had has been long since solved through the years. "There _are_ two of them this time."

"You look gorgeous," he kisses my neck, "glowing," he presses a kiss to my hair, "beautiful." He kisses my forehead adoringly.

"Don't forget huge." I tease him.

"And beautiful." He tells me, before kissing me softly, his mouth feather light on mine. After a moment our tongues seek each other despite my obvious condition impeding more, and our kisses start to grow frantic after he bites my lower lip softly. He pulls away regretfully and I groan, making him chuckle. Francis sighs, resting his forehead against mine. Despite my teasing, I know he actually likes how I look when I'm pregnant, how my body is more rounded and my breasts are larger. He might even feel some manly pride over knowing that it's his child I bear. It's always a pain for us to stop having marital relations.

"Five children…" He tells me, his voice full of wonder. Wonder I feel as well, as I remember the days I thought this would be impossible for us. But now our family is growing rather fast.

"Five children indeed…whatever shall we do?" I ask him, smiling.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I always liked even numbers."

"Francis!"


End file.
